Blood In The Void
by morion87
Summary: Blood and skulls will flow as the Imperial Fists and Blood Angels Traitor Legions clash over a Imperial held world. Set in Zahariel's Roboutian Heresy timeline.
1. Chapter 1

chapter 1

The Imperial Hive World of Pyros hung in the void like a diseased star. Even from far away one could see the brown stains of millennia of atmospheric pollution and worse inflicted upon the planet by an ever hungry Imperium. But for those who came with other, darker thoughts, something more stood out.

Pyros had minimal orbital defenses.

It seemed strange for those who knew of how many worlds defended themselves. But for those who knew why, it was just another sign of weakness.

Pyros sat far from the frontlines of any major attack, either from the Eye of Terror where most of the Lost and the Damned resided, or the Ruinstorm where the Arch Traitor's sons made their home.

Nor was it close to any major xenos infestations. For all of this, the world had all but been forgotten by the Imperium.

It was a weakness those with the power would exploit effortlessly. And even now, two such beings made their course to the unknowing planet.

Lazarus, chaos lord of the _Blood Drinkers_ warband of the IXth Legion, looked on at the oncoming planet full of prey with relish. It was not just the thought of fresh blood that excited him, but also the chance to prove his worth after recent losses.

His warband had once been one of the more numerous of the Blood Angels. After the Legion had fallen apart in the aftermath of the Legion Wars, the ship (which had once been one of the finest of the IXth Legion's fleet in the years before the revelation on Signus Prime) had struck out to make its own mark on the galaxy and the Imperium. For more than a millennium they had slacked their thirst on the worlds surrounding the Eye of Terror.

Finally growing bored of them and the constant attacks from the other Traitor Legions (the vast majority of which still remembered how the Blood Angels had abandoned them so quickly during the Siege and were among the first to flee Terra after Guiliman's fall. On top of the disgust engendered following the Dropsite Massacre), they had made their way out into the wider galaxy, staying in the empty spaces of the Gothic Sector for several centuries before leaving for the northern Ultima Segmentum.

This put them into contention with Ultramarines warbands that had somehow escaped past the Iron Cage around the Ruinstorm. Not that Lazarus actually cared. He had no love lost for the thrice damned XIIIth Legion. In fact, at every chance he could, he took pains to make sure whatever plots they had came to nothing in the end.

But his last attack on an Imperial world had been bloodily repulsed by a combined force of IIIrd and VIIIth Legion warriors. The losses among the slaves mattered not all to him. They could always be replaced with more.

What made it worse was the loss of so many of what fellow Legionaries he had brow beat into his service. It had been a long time since the warband had returned to any of the Legion's gene-labs for fresh replacements and he was down to just five Legionaries plus several hundred mortal slaves.

There were already whispers that one among the warband intended to usurp him if given the chance. It was one Lazarus had no intention of ever giving to anyone. Ever. Any who thought otherwise were deluded fools. He had a special place for those who had tried to usurp his position in the past.

Their desiccated bodies made for a great adornment in his chambers. And were an easy way to keep any folhardy mortal slave from sneeking a peek when they had no right to.

His lips curled in a sneer at the thought. It almost made him feel sorry for the poor fools. Almost.

But that was a concern for later. Even now the cults Lazarus had been seeding on Pyros for years would be beginning the first strikes that would allow his force to land and slake their thirst. His bound pyskers were already sending a wave of terror and adoration ahead of the ship.

Not that they truly needed it. His ship, the Warspite Class battlebarge _Bloodcaller,_ had been designed for a planetary invasion. But it made the taste of blood as he drained it from the unworthy taste all the sweeter for it.

His grand reveries of the feast to come were interrupted as he heard someone approach his command throne. Looking down with distaste he saw that it was one of the mortal slaves that ran one function or another of the bridge. Lazarus had never paid attention.

The mortal stopped at the foot of the command throne, throwing himself into a bow, not daring to look at his master until bidden. Lazarus let him quiver for a moment before saying "Rise."

The mortal did as he was bid. He kept his gaze away from his master for too long less he loose himself to his Glamour. Far too many had made that mistake and had paid for it. Lord Lazarus had a habit of drinking dry anyone who looked at him too long. Unless he told them too of course. Of course this only mattered on board the ship.

"We are almost in range my lord." He murmured.

Servo motors whined as Lazarus stood. His armor was the older MkIII armor with his helmet scavenged from the MkIV pattern taken during a battle with a Dark Angels Legion warband four centuries earlier as time in realspace was measured.

If anyone looked at Lazarus and lived to tell about it, they would have seen what could have passed for the perfect ideal for an Astartes. A beautiful face unmarred by scars or blemishes, blond hair swept back in a way that screamed megalomania and his eyes alight with a fiery intensity.

His armor carried the same ideal. The IXth Legion's symbol of a red drop of blood was carried on his left shoulder while the right carried the sigil of Slaanesh the Dark Prince. Woven into every facet were the suggestive symbols of the Prince of Pleasure, ones that if one looked too long would drive them insane. At his left hip hung a powerblade the color of spilled blood and on his right sat a holstered inferno pistol

"Not fast enough. Burn the engines at full power. No, past that! I thirst." Lazarus replied the Thirst burning his throat.

The mortal flinched. "My, my lord? We can't-"

He never finished the sentence for Lazarus had suddenly lunged forward and grabbed him with a massive fist. His eyes filled with horror as his mouth opened and huge fangs glistened in it, before darkness claimed him.

Lazarus enjoyed the rush as the blood was drained from the hapless puppet he held. He disdained wearing his helmet when on board, the more to enjoy the crew's rapture when they looked at him. His omophagea picked up bits and pieces of the crewman's life as it faded away. He had worked his way up from a lowly position from the gun decks by dint of his cruelty and willingness to murder those in a position he craved. He had finally made his way up to the bridge and as lead message runner. Not that Lazarus particularly cared anyway.

Making sure he drained every last drop, he discarded the sack of flesh without a second thought.

"Burn the engines full tilt. I don't care how you do it. Get me to that world _now!"_

On the far side of Pyros, another ship bore down on the planet with the same idea of slaughter, but came from a very different background.

The Maelstrom Class grand cruiser _Harvester of Skulls_ had once been a proud example of her class, one that had conquered worlds unnumbered in the heyday of the Great Crusade ten thousand years before.

Now it prowled those same space lanes for a very different purpose, one forged in the fires of the first Blood Crusade. The ship, whose first name was long forgotten, had been newly given to the VIIth Legion before the massacre at Isstvan III. It had been one of the first ships of the first four Traitor Legions to arrive at Isstvan V at the height of the Dropsite Massacre.

Thought caught out like many were when the _Terminus Est_ detonated its warp core, it had proven itself time and time again during the Blood Crusade that followed as the Imperial Fists sealed their pact with Khorne, so much so that Rogal Dorn himself had commended them.

A fact that Demetrius Valor was always ready to tell anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

Seated on the command throne overlooking the bridge, the lord of the _Skull Hunters_ warband of the VIIth Legion cut an imposing figure to those few brave or foolish enough to look at him.

His Cataphractii pattern terminator armor, normally a spotless yellow, now had a long splash of red across the chest pauldron, carried over from the warband's most recent battle. Valor had long ago made it clear to the few Dark Mechanicum adepts in his warband that any blood earned in battle against a worthy foe was to be left alone until the next battle against another worthy opponent.

Lord Valor hoped that day was long in coming. The previous kill had been particularly sweet.

His left shoulder pad carried the Legion's badge of an upward pointing fist. Like all in the Legion, he had repainted his left gauntlet red. Valor saw it as one more affront to the False Emperor. On his right shoulder he carried the sigil of the Blood God. His weapon of choice, a huge chainaxe named _Gore Render,_ sat mag-locked to his right leg. But his most favored possession was not even on the bridge.

Valor had made it his mission to collect a skull from every Legion ever created ten millennia before, Traitor or Loyalist. So far he had taken one each from the Thousand Sons, Salamanders, Raven Guard, White Scars, Alpha Legion, Iron Warriors and Ultramarines Legions.

The Raven Guard in particular had been sweet. Though young by the standards of the Long War, Valor already had a deep disgust for the degenerates of the XIXth Legion. No true warrior would ever lower themselves to that level. Even his hatred of the Iron Warriors Legion didn't run as deep. He would never lower himself to taking the head of one of their so called 'Spawn Marines.'

The leader of that warband had fought as well as any, he gave him that. But he still fell, as all did in time. Like their entire Legion would in time.

His most recent 'acquisition' (an Ultramarines lord's MkIV helmet) was even now impaled on a spike on his trophy rack on his armor's back. It was particularly sweet since Valor could now claim he possessed every 'mark' of power armor helmet in his collection. While he kept the helmet, the rest of the armor (thoroughly 'cleansed' of its past association) he gave to his most favored warriors. And if there were extra helmets he didn't need, he gave those away as well.

Let it never be said that Demitrius Valor was not considerate in that regard. It was a sure fire wa to keep his warriors loyal and disuade any thoughts of usurpotion from their minds.

He also made sure to take any pattern of terminator armor he could get his hands on. His own suit was mostly the Cataphractii pattern but several pieces were taken from the Tartaros and even the Indomitus patterns.

But that was beside the point. Pyros had become a target of opportunity he would not pass up. Not only would it be a chance to claim more skulls for his patron, but it would be a perfect chance to blood the newest members of the _Bloodborne,_ the army of mortal followers his warband had always used.

It was fortunate that the first master of the warband millennia before had abandoned the Eye of Terror after the Breaking. Finding it too chaotic for his tastes, he had struck out into the wider galaxy. He had cut a bloody path following rumors of another haven for the Lost and the Damned.

The Screaming Vortex, an area just as unpredictable and chaotic as the Eye of Terror. While the worlds within the vortex were fewer, there was plenty of space for those who had the will and might to expand. While every one of the Traitor Legions had a warband in the vortex, none of them were any serious power.

Valor had plans to change that. He already had one of the largest fortresses in the Ragged Helix and had access to some of the most violent of the Gloaming Worlds for fresh recruits to his mortal army, and the best of those he had transformed into Legionaries.

His chainaxe had been a gift from the Exospectre of the Hollows, even if he had found the whole episode unsettling.

Servo motors whined as he turned, hearing one of the bridge crew approach the command throne. Bowing deeply, the mortal waited at the base for his master to give him permission to rise and speak.

"Rise." Valor said after a moment, enjoying watching the mortal squirm, afraid his lord would end his life on a whim. He had done it before, either when the crewman brought him bad news, and sometimes just because he felt like it.

"My lord. We will be in drop range in thirty minutes." He paused a moment before continuing. "Long range comms is picking up a lot of chatter on the planetary vox."

Valor laughed a deep and disturbing sound. "It looks like someone has started the fun without us." He said rising from his seat.

"Very well." He continued unlocking his helmet from its position on his left leg and locking it in place with a hiss before taking a ship wide hailer from the mortal's outstretched hand.

"All Fists to their drop pods. All Bloordborne to their drop ships. _For Dorn!"_

" _Blood for the Primarch!"_

AN: And off on another story for this universe. Night Of The Wolf is on hiatus at the moment due to a major case of writter's block. But should be vack on track soon.

Now, on to here. The Imperial Fists and Blood Angels I think need more love in this universe. Hence them coming together here. Plus the fact that it also works as a larger bit of the war between Khorne and Slaneesh.

All for now. See you next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The wait had become agonizing for Lazarus. He had already killed two more members of the bridge crew because the ship was still not going fast enough.

When one had finally announced that they had entered Pyros orbital space, his grin had made the crewman who had given him the news nearly forget the blood that still dripped from his lips. Now he stalked the corridors of the ship on his way down to the launch deck. He expected his warband to be there and ready for the drop.

If not? Well Lazarus was still thirsty, and he had killed those who were late before.

He had just turned the corner that would lead him to the main launch bay when his suit comm chirped.

"What!?" He nearly yelled. His blood was still up from the amount of time it had taken them to get this far and he was in no mood to talk to any mortal at the moment.

"My lord. Long range auspex has picked up another ship at extreme firing range." Came the voice of the newly promoted comms officer. "They are on a direct attack vector."

Lazarus stopped as he processed this information. "I thought this world had no other ship in orbit? How did someone miss this!?"

"My, my lord. It's not an Imperial vessel."

"Then what is it?" Lazarus snapped.

"It's broadcasting a VIIth Legion identity code." Came the reply.

Lazarus thought on this for a moment before beginning to laugh. "It seems like someone else intends to steal our prey." His face hardened. "How long before they enter firing range?"

"Ten minutes my lord."

Lazarus began walking once more. "Then that is ten minutes we have and ten minutes they are wasting. Void shields to maximum. Run out the guns and prepare to repel boarders."

"My lord?"

"Do not question me weakling!" he roared. "They come for the same reason we do. And I will give it to them. I will kill them all myself if I have to."

"Yes, yes my lord."

Lazarus sneered as he heard the vox switch off. He would make sure that mortal in particular would not live to see another ship day for daring to question him like that. But that was a concern for later. For now he had a warband to ready for one of the most dangerous military operations for any side to undertake.

A ship boarding action. The VIIth would not kill them at a distance. Their creed would not allow it if there was opportunity for hand to hand combat.

Lazarus sneered. If the VIIth thought this would be an easy kill, they were more deluded that he thought. He had fought off boarding actions before and this would be no different.

As he entered the launch bay, Lazarus took stock of his warband. The mortal slaves had already been assembled, taking in the sights of their masters with an unholy glee that he always found quaint in a way.

Jacobus was pacing like a caged animal, his blood lust rising with each passing second. Occasionally he would reach for the chainsword strapped to his power pack before stopping.

Caiaphas was more controlled though Lazarus could also see he hungered too. His power blade was already gripped in his left hand.

Damaris was the only one of the warband to bear terminator armor. As he put it, he had taken it from a White Scar during the last weeks of the Siege.

Lazarus highly doubted it himself, but he let him keep up the story for he was an effective member of the warband.

The last member of the warband, he rarely used for the risk that he would turn on them in a second was always great.

"Our fearless leader finally decides to join us I see." Jacobus sneered. The others chuckled a bit at it while Lazarus ignored it like he always did.

"Save it for someone who actually cares." Lazarus sneered back. "There has been a change of plans."

"Has our leader become a coward that he wouldn't attack a helpless planet?" Damaris remarked.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Lazarus retorted. "But it seems we have company that had the same idea we have."

"More blood for us then." Caiaphas said. "Who would they be?"

"VIIth Legion and they know we're here as well. Knowing them, they won't want to share with us." Lazarus said.

Jacobus laughed. "Why should we care what Dorn's lapdogs want? We go where we want and take what we want. Let them crawl back into the cesspit they crawled out of."

Lazarus turned on him. "We should care because they will go through us to get what they want. And I have no intention of letting that happen."

"Then what do we do about them?" Damaris asked.

Lazarus smiled. "Kill them all of course. What else?" He turned to find the nearest Dark Mechanicum adept. "You!" He called out to a wizened piece of flesh and metal not far from where they were conversing.

"My lord?" It wheezed.

"Rouse the Entombed One." Lazarus said.

If the adept still had flesh attached to his face, Lazarus was sure the color would have drained from it at the pronouncement. "Is that wise my lord? He was not cognizant last we heard of him."

Lazarus stalked up to him and grabbed him by his mechatendrils. "Do it little man or it will be your blood he will taste when he awakens."

The weakling in his grasp nodded his ascent as Lazarus dropped him to the floor and scuttled away to a little used door on the far wall and passed through.

Lazarus turned back to the others who were all sharing an uncertain look among themselves, one that Lazarus could sympathize with on some level. No one wanted to face the Entombed One no matter how many stood beside him for all remembered him by another name that even now struck apprehension into them.

Ionius, the Red Butcher of the Xandor system, Atlas V and countless other atrocities.

And known only to a very select few, the old lord of the warband.

"You really are crazy if you want to awaken him." Damaris said after a moment.

"We will need him." Lazarus replied, but even to him it sounded hollow, and the others knew it as well.

Valor couldn't remember being this excited in a long time. They were less than twenty minutes from the drop zone and his blood was up. He knew the warriors of his band would be feeling the same thing.

So it was with irritation that he listened as the mortal who manned the vox station spoke up.

"My lord. Long range auspex has picked up another ship in orbit. Too early to tell but it looks like a battleship class." The mortal said.

This gave Valor pause. His ship was not designed for a one on one fight with a ship that big. "I thought this world had no ship that big? How did someone miss this!?" He would claim that fool's head as an offering to Khorne for this!

The operator shook his head. "it shouldn't. Long range pic coming online now."

The view on the main screen changed as the ship came into view. Valor felt his lip curl in disgust as he recognized the markings.

Red as blood with various ornamentation picked out in gold, the gun ports carved into the shapes of leering daemon mouths. But it was the single black blood drop on a field of white that roused his anger.

"Blood Angels." He snarled before turning back to the crewman who had spoken. "How long before they are in range?"

The mortal, who had once served in the Imperial Navy before defecting during the Gothic War, looked at the readouts a moment. "they will be within extreme firing range in five minutes, less if we burn the engines at full speed."

Valor nodded. "Then burn them at full speed. I want that ship in boarding range by the time I reach the launch bays."

The mortal had the sense to not question the orders, only nodding and barking out the relevant orders.

Valor paid him no mind, already turning for the bridge doors, his mind on the carnage to come. He had debts to repay against the IXth Legion

And he was not the only one. Plus if this worked out well, it would remove a major headache of his for good.

As much as it pained him to say it. For it was a fate that he didn't wish on any of his brethren. No matter what other differences lay between them. And there were many.

He had already lost his blood brother to the affliction. He would not loose anymore if he could help it.

AN: Finally decided to do this with one of my stories. And this probably won't be a common thing either. On to the notes then.

This story is heavily based on a Timeline bit from the _Khorne Daemonkin_ codex. Just adjusted to fit into the Roboutian Heresy Universe. Which also gives it a definitive date now.

It is now 183.M41.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2, part one

 _One minute to impact._

The voice of the servitor pilot of the Caestus assault ram did little to Valor's thoughts as it announced their time. His thoughts were already on the bloodshed to follow and the chance to increase his own standing.

Behind him five of his fellows all stood at the ready. Like Valor himself, they all wore various marks of terminator armor, some in better shape than others.

Lorvan was the only one of the group to have the newest iteration of the Indomitus pattern. How he had claimed it was anyone's guess for he never spoke of it. But he was a valued member of the squad so Valor did not begrudge him that. Too much anyway.

Ornos was clad in the older Cataprhactii pattern. He was also one of the oldest members of the entire warband. In some that would make him a prime candidate for promotion if Valor was killed.

But Valor did not intend it if and when that day came. Not only did Ornos not desire it, his mental state was dangerously close to falling into Dorn's Darkness at times.

Rosharn was clad in a suit of Tartaros pattern armor. Out of the squad, Valor saw him as someone who could take his place one day, if he lived long enough that is.

Stefan wore a mixture of various patterns. He was the second oldest, but unlike Ornos, his mental state was more sane. If such a word could ever be used for an astartes.

Of the whole squad, Lyvor was the youngest of them all. Though young was somewhat unfair as he had participated in countless atrocities. At the moment he was checking the narthecium attached to his arm, extending and retracting the reductor tool.

He was not a trained apothecary by a long stretch, but he was the best the warband had at the role. He hoped to one day be trained by of the Legion's apothecaries at one of their hidden gen facilities.

Behind and around them many more assault craft drove at full speed toward their target. Valor had three dozen other Imperial Fists under his command and several hundred trained mortals. Not the largest in the VIIth, but a number that worked well enough.

Thinking of that, Valor remembered that it had been one such visit some time ago that had led to the way he rewarded the warriors under his command.

And it had come from of the last places he had ever expected.

 _Imperium date 600.M40. Location unknown._

Demitrius Valor was not a man used to conflicting emotions. Which left his current mood even more sour than it already was.

His ship had exited the Warp several hours earlier at the edge of a system that lifeless and worthless to all but the select few that knew of what lay there.

Ever since the close of the Clone Wars, when Fabius Bile had sacked one of the VIIth Legion's gene facilities, only those of Rogal Dorn's blood knew where they existed.

Valor had returned to this one on several occasions before to replenish his warband's numbers and deliver the gene-seed of the fallen to the apothecaries that worked there.

In all the prior visits, his had been the only ship on station. But now…

"What ship is that?" He growled to the comms officer.

The comms officer checked the readouts. "It's broadcasting as the _Blood Reaver_ of Lord Kalron of the Crimson Lords warband my lord."

Valor's brows creased. He knew the names only by reputation. One of the largest warbands of the VIIth Legion, Lord Kalron had plied the stars since the days of the Great Heresy and had fought at the Siege of the Corpse Emperor's palace if the tales were true.

Seeing them up close, Valor could well believe it.

"My lord? We are being hailed by the _Blood Reaver._ Should I respond?" The comms officer asked as the rest of the bridge crew watched in anxious silence.

Valor thought on it a moment. "Open it." He growled.

The voice that came through held an unmistaken tone of authority to it, hidden in an avalanche about to be unleashed. Or so Valor thought. It was one that would make lesser men quail or even bow to in its presence.

Demetrius Valor was not a lesser man and he bowed only to Rogal Dorn and Khorne.

"To whom am I speaking?"

"Demetrius Valor of the _Skull Hunters._ I was not expecting someone else to be here."

There was a low rumble in what could be called a laugh. "The _Skull Hunters_ huh? I have not heard that name in a long time. Your name is new though."

Valor laughed. "I am old enough. Be on your way, we have business to attend to here."

"Do not presume to tell me what to do boy! I have ravaged the stars since long before you were anything." Kalron's anger was palpable even through the vox. Clearly he was one who was high in the Blood God's favor.

"And you will be disappointed anyway. My warband has already taken what warriors were here. You will have to go elsewhere if that is what you seek."

Valor cursed. That was a major reason why he was here. Their last battle had been against a Raven Guard Legion warband and the cost of victory had been high. After a moment though, a thought came to mind.

"Then maybe you can help us in another way Lord Kalron. I know of your reputation. And I would be remiss to not at least see you face to face."

Kalron chuckled. "Flattery will get you nowhere. But it has been too long since I have seen another of the Legion besides my own warriors. Make your delivery, and then we can work something out."

The vox clicked off even as Valor turned toward the bridge door. "Keep on course. But avoid the _Blood Reaver_ as much as possible."

The voices of affirmation from the crew he barely paid any mind. His mind was already on what was to come. And whether he was making a mistake in doing so.

AN: Another chapter done. And now we move to a little side story within the main story.

Those of you who have read _No Man's Storm_ will recognize Lord Kalron from it. His inclusion has two purposes.

As the commission price for the cover art, Nemris asked that I have him mentioned in some way during the story. He left it open on how.

And after some time, I realized that Valor and he have something's in common, besides the obvious. So I decided to expand upon that.

This interlude should only be maybe a couple of chapters long before we get back to the main portion of the story.


	4. Chapter 4

Interlude

Amakyre took in what the dataslate he had been given with a critical eye. The chapter master of the Word Bearers Legion's Star of Judgement Chapter was not one to show emotion this early.

But what he read was pushing his limits. "You are sure of this?" He asked.

Captain Kagax of the World Eaters Legion's XIIth Company nodded. "I am. Our cousins in the XVIth have already returned to their craft. The Phaereon is ready to grant them undocking clearance."

Amakyre nodded slowly as his gaze returned to the report. "And they have asked for our help?"

Kagax nodded. "They know of your, craft with dealing with this sort of thing. We all do."

Amakyre made no comment to this. The XVIIth took pride in their ability to stamp out any sign of Chaos corruption in a world when needed.

He himself had stamped out several, several of which shared a connection to the past history of Colchis.

He took even more pride in crushing the remnants of the Covenant whenever he could.

Kagax's hesitation was not new to him. Few among the Legions took much pride in killing civilians unless there was no other way around it.

But the corruption of the Ruinous Powers ran deep and it did not always show then. Sometimes it would be years before it showed in the populous.

The two of them had worked together before in fact to cleanse such an outbreak on the captain's homeworld of Ioiria Prime some years before.

It seemed the corruption the Space Wolves had left in the wake of their failed invasion in M.33 had never fully been cleansed and continued to be a source of irritation millennia later.

Amakyre handed the dataslate back to his companion. "I must thank you for this brother captain. If there is a corruption, then I must ready my brothers at once."

Kagax nodded. He wished their reunion had been under better circumstances but there was nothing for it. Whatever he thought of the XVIIth's methods, he had nothing but respect for them.

"Do you need any assistance?" He asked.

Amakyre smiled, and a real one at that. "No brother. I think with what we have, we have more than enough."

Kagax nodded. Extending his hand, the two shake in the old warrior way of wrist to wrist before Amakyre turned away and made his way to his Legion's exit from the Hall of Victory.

A fitting name if there ever was one he thought as he turned his attention to the mural that dominated one wall. One that celebrated the 1st Battle of Paramar.

One of the first battles after the Dropsite Massacre of Isstvan V, Paramar had been a key target of the Arch Traitor's march on Terra.

If he could capture it, the world's extensive stockpile of weapons, ammunition and promethium reserves would give the Traitor Legions a major advantage in the war to come.

Unfortunately for them, it had not gone all according to plan.

Though thought broken at Isstvan V, the Alpha Legion had managed to pull together an effective defense of the system with very little time to spare, helped in large part by the 77th Grand Battalion of the Iron Warriors Legion.

Like some in the Legion, they had been so entrenched in their duties eradicating all manner of xenos filth in the surrounding systems that the Praetorian Perturabo would not pull them out to rejoin the Legion on Terra.

Despite this the warriors under Warsmith Kyr Vhalen's command had fought with the bravery and tenacity that the Legion was famed for.

Though the system had fallen in time, the Iron Warriors, Alpha Legion, along with a small contingent of the Legio Fureans Titan Legion had forced a major delay in the advance on Terra.

A delay that had proven decisive in the Siege that was to come.

The mural on the far wall depicted the final battle of that campaign. It was stylized of course since no known Loyalist had survived the battle and was based on what little Mechanicum evidence there was.

And when it came to the Alpha Legion, you couldn't be sure of anything. No one knew for sure if any of the figures represented were of the XXth Legion or not.

Those members of the Legion today would not say one way or another, and many had asked if given the chance.

To add to the confusion, the Alpha Legion's commander, Harrowmaster Armilius Dynat, had been among the fallen, and yet he was credited with saving the world of Alpha Tarsis from the Ultramarines some time later.

The planet even had an arch in his honor. Kagax had seen it himself.

Kagax admitted that he was no art expert, leaving that to the sons of Fulgrim, but even he could admit the artistry that had gone into the mural.

The mural was the first thing any entering the hall would see. Nine entrance ways led into it, one earmarked for each Legion and its support only. No other was allowed to use them except by invitation only.

Each led to a smaller hall tailored to each Legion's own taste. What each was like none ever talked about of course for it was deeply private for each.

Kagax himself was on his way to his own Legion's area. There was nothing much for him to do at the moment. The _Warrior's Bond_ would not be fit action for some time.

His company also needed redressing after recent battles. Several of the scouts attached to his command were ready to undergo their final trials, and he would make that recommendation on their return to Nuceria.

Whenever that might be.

Returning as fast as was possible to his own ship, the Lunar class cruiser _Light of Truth,_ Amakyre had already sent word to the bridge to request undocking clearance.

He would not be delayed unnecessarily if it could be helped. The void battle already underway did not concern him too much for he knew the Sons of Horus commander was a master at such things.

What had him seething was the fact that the longer they took, the more the corruption of the Ruinous Power's would be working its way into the citizens of Pyros.

The fact that it was the slaves of the Blood God and the Prince of Pleasure made it harder for both were as difficult, if not more so, to remove than those loyal to the Changer of Ways or the Fly Lord.

That would not be the case here, this he swore. Not if he had anything to say about it.


End file.
